


Only Two Ways to Twist the Obvious

by Zaikyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8x07, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:12:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaikyo/pseuds/Zaikyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nothing you could have done would have saved me, because I didn’t want to be saved."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Two Ways to Twist the Obvious

It wasn’t the same thing, Dean knew. _They_ weren’t the same thing. Not anymore. Time topside of Purgatory hadn’t done much to sullen his vision of the angel, obscure it in any way other than the fabricated rip of how they’d parted. And maybe that should have shaken he hunter’s faith in his own mind. But it didn’t. Dean knew Cas, and he knew this Cas wasn’t the same. Time in the monster box had done something to them both. Injured them somehow.

Dean could see it then, with the sky turning colors on him in the dripping light, sun falling farther and farther away from his line of vision, all the while casting obscure shadows across his angel’s face.

_His_ angel.

Dean wasn’t sure that even applied anymore. Or if it had ever.

He took a sip of beer, cradled the can in both hands and continued to look off at the fading day. Cas was seated close beside him on the hood of his car, silent like most always. It was amazing to Dean then, how something so expected could feel like such a forgery with no warning at all. He wished beyond anything Cas had never shown him what his brain had so effectively covered up and sealed. A false reality in which his fault was the worst thing there. And yet it was funny, because despite what the truth turned out to be, it still felt like it was Dean’s fault somehow. At least to Dean anyway.

But that was ordinary.

 

The sun was almost completely gone then, and Dean wondered a little idly to himself whether he should drive after it. Things were so much harder to swallow in the dark. But he looked to Cas instead, cast his crumbling gaze over the angel’s pensive profile and fought to keep his hands off what didn’t seem to belong to him anymore.

Castiel turned to him, a mask of unreadable stone carved into his face, and Dean thought for a moment that he were looking into a time warp, at the Castiel he’d known only years ago, before the world had fallen apart because they’d ruined it.

 

“I think we’re broken, Cas.” Dean wasn’t sure he’d meant to say it, but he had, a betraying bend in his voice to accompany. “I think we’re broken. And I just don’t know if we can fix it this time.”

 

And right there, Castiel thought to put his hand over Dean’s in some small gesture of comfort, of understanding and hope. A thing he’d learned early on meant much more than could be visually perceived. Just one other thing which had managed to bring him that much closer to the hunter beside him.

_His_ hunter.

 

Castiel didn’t do it though; he actually didn’t do a thing in that moment. There was something, some voice or song, far off and buried deep in his mind-- it whispered to him then, sang ominous and low in the most hushed tone one might hear, or think they’ve heard. It told him things like that were no longer allowed. And Castiel, lost in search of an imaginary medium which might level his soul between good intensions and good outcomes, believed that voice.

 

He really, truly did.


End file.
